


A Very Strange, Enchanted Boy

by mizface



Series: Nature Boy [4]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale, due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizface/pseuds/mizface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the sleepy town of Night Vale came one day a visitor.  And while he was a stranger to the majority of the citizens of Night Vale, he was no stranger to Night Vale itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Strange, Enchanted Boy

Once upon a time, there was a quiet little town in the desert. It was called Night Vale, and it was full of friendly people of all shapes, sizes, genders, species and state of being. 

It had been founded long, long ago by peoples from different nations and possibly dimensions. Included in this group were a few Canadians, and that’s important, for without those stalwart explorers, willing to put down roots in a climate so vastly different from their own, this tale could never be told. 

To the sleepy town of Night Vale came one day a visitor, a lad of no more than ten. And while he was a stranger to the majority of the citizens of Night Vale, he was no stranger to Night Vale itself. The town recognized one of its own, and embraced the boy to it. Metaphorically of course; had it literally embraced him, this story would end now, with the boy either a blood sacrifice or possibly a living statue, placed strategically in front of the library or in the park (not the Dog Park. This was well before the Dog Park).

Anyhow, the boy arrived in Night Vale with a purpose. You see, he had family there, distant relatives he’d only heard about in hushed whispers, when his parents thought him asleep (he needed very little sleep, as it turned out. But his parent didn’t realize it, and the boy found it advantageous to keep them in the dark). Likely they’d kept this branch of the family from the boy to protect him, as parents are wont to do. But it became clear as their child grew from toddler to boy to the barest glimmers of adolescence that they wouldn’t be able to keep the family secret from him.

The boy, it seemed, took after this far-off, hidden offshoot of the family tree. His interests were many, his mind keen, but he was easily distracted, often by things it seemed only he could see or hear. At first his parents thought him overly imaginative, and applauded his inventiveness while trying to rein in his creative impulses, just a little.

It seemed to work, mostly because the boy realized that he was different (he was keen of mind, remember), and that somehow his differences were upsetting his parents. So he hid his more unique traits, only whispering to the trees when he was alone, or drawing the creatures he saw as best he could using only the three dimensions the other children in his classes used.

But one day, he grew careless. It wasn’t his fault, not completely. He was, after all, just a boy, and a curious one at that. So when the pond called to him, called him by name in fact, how was he to resist? And the light of the sun sparkling on its oily surface made such a wondrous array of colors, how could he look away when there were so many to identify, to file away in his mind’s eye?

The day was warm, and the pond looked cool, and it wasn’t deep. So how could he not want to take off his shoes and his socks, to wade in and feel the water lap around his ankles, and then his knees and higher as he sank into a feeling of pure contentment?

Even if you ask him now, many years later, he cannot tell you how long he spent in that pond. Or explain how he hadn’t realized that it was, in fact, much deeper than he’d first thought. What he does remember is a feeling of acceptance, of being surrounded by happy voices, and tiny prodding fingers that poked his arms, caressed his cheeks and tickled his sides. And then a sudden gasping, lurching movement as he was brought out of the water, where he’d been apparently floating face down for that unknown amount of time.

The shock of being pulled away from that peaceful place changed him. He grew sullen and took to hovering near water, always with a searching look on his face. He interacted with all the creatures he saw, not caring if anyone else could see them as well. He was so distracted, or perhaps it was uncaring, that he didn’t see the looks on his parents’ faces, or how they shifted from terrified to worried, then concerned, then upset and finally, terribly resigned.

He couldn’t stay. But where he needed to go, they could not (would not) follow.

And so it was that one day, a boy came to Night Vale. To a desert town, far away, so very, very far away from all that he knew, from the land that he loved, from the things that loved him. Away from the waters that had embraced him, held him close, wanted him for their own. In fact, he was in a place he could see was the antithesis of that. It was, he was certain, the worst day of his life.

He wasn’t wrong.

But it was also, as these things sometimes are, the _best_ day of his life. For in Night Vale, he would never be alone again. Never be an outcast. And while he might have lost his beloved pond, the town was willing to embrace him just as fully, just as readily. And with a steadier supply of oxygen.

So yes, the boy met his hitherto unknown relatives in Night Vale. He lived with them and learned from them. He found in them the acceptance his parents would never have been able to give him, even if they’d tried (honestly, they had, but it was no use because the things their boy could do? How could anyone be expected to cope?)

He learned to be himself. To accept all that he was, all that he could be. To be confident, so that years later, he was strong enough to make the painful choice to leave Night Vale and follow the long-hidden path of his heart. It wasn’t an easy decision; the right ones seldom are. 

He knew that if he was lucky, someday he’d find his way back.

But that’s another story.

**Author's Note:**

> fills the "fairy tale" square for my trope bingo card


End file.
